Showing posts with label Poetic Bloomings Memoir. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetic Bloomings Memoir. Show all posts

Sunday, December 9, 2012

Waste Not, Want Not



 

Waste not, want not
She said
as she shook the crumbs
from the bottom of a bread bag
for the birds
or her next casserole
placing the bag in a drawer for re-use
as she brought someone a freshly baked treat

Waste not, want not
She said
as she saved the yarn ends
to hang in trees
so the birds can have some color
in their nests too

Waste not, want not…
and rags were cut into strips
sewn together
and braided for mats (see picture above)
fabric scraps became comforters and quilts
for the needy
…or here and there perhaps a stuffed toy
Pie dough left-overs were scraped
from the counter-top and
put in a dish in the fridge
for next time
and seeds were collected from her garden
for next year
and empty spools were saved
for crafts and creations (see pictures above)
and she would tell me of their wedding
during the depression years
and how they had to choose
between either turnips or potatoes
for their meal
and how her aunt took a cherished vase
out of her china cupboard
and gave it to her
as a wedding gift
because there was no money
and then she would often repeat
‘He who does not value a penny
does not deserve a dollar’
She never heard
Reduce, reuse, and recycle
But she reminded me constantly
That no generation is immune
To hard times or want
As the root cellar was filled with
Preserves from her garden


I am glad to have known
This part of her
As I attempt to pass some of Grandma on
To the next generation
In waste not, want not

© Janet Martin

I am privileged to be living  in the house that belonged to one of the most beautiful people I ever knew; my Grandma.


I hope to complete the memoir project this winter. They are very patient Gardeners:)

Sunday, November 18, 2012

The Most Important Day of my Life



Poetic Bloomings Prompt: The Most Important Day of My Life...


...when I said ‘I do’

Blissfully unaware
Of life’s conniving stare
Its concrete walls and hurdles
Because my eyes were fixed on you

When I said ‘I do’
Certain that love
Would be enough
Come hell or higher water
To carry us through

When I said ‘I do’
Hell and high water
Seethed; primed for slaughter
But I guess they forgot
You said, ‘I do’ too

Lord, when I said ‘I do’ to You
My lesser yet equally cherished vows
Are possible to keep, though life blows
It vilest gale from unknowns deep
Love will be enough to see us through

© Janet Martin
 

Saturday, September 29, 2012

Welcome Home (Memoir Project #3)





It is not the same now
The arms that held her are gone
But oh, in my mind is an echo defined
That somehow lives on and on
Cradled by two weeping willows
I thrived in their sighing embrace
Now the ghost-willow trees frame fond memories
Of my dear, unforgotten home-place

I cherish the humble brick dwelling
Of panel and paint decor
But the sweet echo of nine siblings I love
Drench the walls and the floor
The old wood-stove in the kitchen
Served as cook-stove, laundry and hair dryer
In the winter we woke to the smell of smoke
As mom rekindled the fire…

…and set the pot of oatmeal a-boiling
Ready for ‘farmer's’ breakfast at eight
Midst the chatter of those nine siblings I love
As we would argue, discuss or debate
Until Farmer’s firm, unchallenged ‘QUIET!’
Dropped the up-roar to a hush
And all that was heard was the slurp and stir
Of ten respectful children eating ‘mush’

I learned as a young teenager
Which steps to skip at late-night, cause they squeaked
But no matter how I would tiptoe or prowl
Somewhere an errant board creaked
…and casually at breakfast
The cereal box became a shield
Until Farmer cleared his throat, (we always looked when he spoke)
And the culprit was revealed

The furniture was scarred and battered
The rooms lived in to the max
But home was a place of learning and grace
Where we worked hard and where we could relax
Often in the evening it was quiet
As we set aside our work and our play
To find our own nook and curl up with a book
The highlight at the end of a day

© Janet Martin 






Look What I Did! (memoir prompt #2)





‘Better to be silent than appear proud
and speak of accomplishments out loud’

How old are we when self-consciousness zips
joyous celebration behind our lips?

…and now at forty-six I must share, and tell
of something that I think I have done quite well

Old habits die hard; I’ve acquired a demeanor
that readily demotes my best attempts as mediocre

Long ago my mother taught me each small deed done well
builds a firm foundation on which we can excel…

so this is my humble and daily quest;
to embrace every moment and give it my best

Through this endeavor there are a few things I’ve done
that are entirely out of my comfort zone

Girded by encouragement, and kind assistance too
I started a blog, and thus I met you

So if there is one thing I am ‘proud’ of today
It’s you; the wonderful friends on blog high-way

© Janet Martin

Okay, I'm going to attempt to return to the prompts which began a few months ago at Poetic Bloomings. # 2 prompt Look What I Did!








Sunday, July 29, 2012

Who Do You Think You Are, Janet Ruth Martin? ...an accrostic poem


Poetic Bloomings Prompt; Who Do You Think You Are?

PART I – WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

This week Marie and I ask you to write the poem as an acrostic, using your full name as the subject. The title of your poem should be “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, (Your Name Here)?”
Your poem should touch on your life, or some aspect of it until now. Remember, the focus is you! Tell us. Who do you think you are?



Just a simple girl, daughter, sister, mother, wife
Amazed every day at God’s gifts in my life
Night-owl when seduced by a word or a thought
Educated? By the world’s standards I’m not
That’s me

Rolling pin collector, lover of rhyme
Under the tutelage of a teacher called Time
Thinker, often quiet with sudden bits of crazy
Homebody; my favorite wild-bloom is a daisy

Mother and wife; I’m humbled and awed
And I would run scared, but for the patience of God
Rover of woodland and nature’s perfection
Thankful for moments of tender reflection
Incredibly blessed; undeservedly so
Normal? Nerd?  Nut?  Maybe, but by the grace of God I go…

© Janet Martin